Heart of Lies (7 page)

Harry had another fantasy as well. He wanted to marry Martha Levy. At first he’d worshiped her from afar, the way one would admire a rare object of art. He saw her regularly on the campus, for even before she enrolled as a student, she often came to hear special lectures or to have lunch with her father. Sometimes he could sense her presence before he could actually see her; he would feel a glow in his stomach, and a quickness to his heartbeat, and then there she would be, honey-spun
auburn hair dancing around her face, green eyes trapping the sunlight like a pair of emeralds.

Occasionally she would smile at him, a frank, matter-of-fact invitation to friendship, but Harry could only blush and look away. He was too shy and too in love to just start talking.

Then Harry realized that this enchanting princess, whose visage floated through his bittersweet daydreams as he played lovesick tunes on his violin, was none other than Bernice Levy’s younger sister. Bernice, unlike Martha, was eminently approachable. She was not an intimidating beauty, and she was a fellow engineering student. He could certainly talk to Bernice. He would just have to work up the courage to talk to Bernice about Martha.

He rehearsed his speech for weeks. On a bright April morning, he caught up with Bernice after a lecture and asked her if she would like to go with him for a hike in the foothills now that the weather had warmed up. He would bring a picnic. She could bring her sister.

Bernice was not really offended. It was, after all, a predictable and sensible strategy. Bernice had long ago accepted the fact that Martha was the pretty one, and she was too busy with her engineering studies to devote any time to romance. But David Levy was exceedingly protective of his pretty, high-spirited younger daughter, and Bernice knew better than to acquiesce in Harry’s plot without her father’s permission.

“Harry Jacobson,” she said in a stern voice, “my little sister is only seventeen. If you would like to court her, you had best ask my father, not connive with me.” She had to squelch the urge to laugh as a look of utter mortification filled Harry’s soft brown eyes. Harry would make an excellent engineer, but Bernice suspected he would never be very good at wooing women.

“I couldn’t. I didn’t mean—”

“Of course you did. You’re not the first. But it’s a dead-end.”

The wretchedness smothering Harry’s features made Bernice take pity on him. He was so earnest. And decent looking, too: trim but not a weakling. Nice height, with wiry brown hair and an intelligent, warm look to his eyes. Martha would start dating eventually. They couldn’t keep the floodgates closed forever. Harry might be a good choice. She thought it over for a moment while Harry stammered more apologies.

“Oh, stop. I’ll help you. Come to my house for dinner next Thursday night. Afterward, we can study for our physics test together. It will give my father a chance to look you over, and give you a chance to meet Martha.” Dazed with joy, Harry pumped Bernice’s hand until her shoulder shook. She tolerated this for a moment, then sent him off with, “Get out of here before I change my mind. I’m already late for my next class.”

So began the special friendship of Martha and Harry, under the watchful but eventually trusting eye of Professor Levy. Five months later Bernice was away at graduate school in Graz, Austria; Harry was beginning his last year at the university; and Martha, who was by then eighteen, had enrolled for her first semester in college.

She had always been a reasonably good student, but studies at the university required a drive for a particular discipline. To her family’s dismay, Martha did not feel driven. She did her best, trying to keep up with her work, but fell behind as soon as she was tempted by any sort of distraction.

And Schwabing provided all sorts of distractions. Luckily, she experienced most of them under Harry’s careful protection. He never pressured her; never expected anything more than a hug and a swift good-night kiss. Martha felt completely safe with him. Not having a
mother to talk to, and not feeling close enough to Bernice to discuss anything more personal than a grocery list, she was left with a vague sense that there must be something more to romance than the shared joy of an evening in a literary cabaret, something more intense than the pleasant contentment she felt when she saw Harry’s face light up at the sight of her. But she did not feel compelled to explore the issue too closely. She’d spent too long mourning the loss of her mother’s love, and trying to earn her father’s, to be concerned about capturing anyone else’s.

Near the end of her first semester Martha tried to confront the nagging restlessness invading her life. She decided that her general sense of dissatisfaction stemmed from boredom with school, and boredom with Munich as well. By December she concluded that a vacation and a job were the twin solutions to her ennui. A vacation to Paris, on her own, and a new career: surely that would cure her.

Then she met Leo. Then she understood what she’d been missing. And now that she’d made that discovery, her whole existence seemed wrong without him.

No, she would not see Harry today. She did not know what she would do today. Or tomorrow. Or the day after that, or the day after that. Except wait.

Time crept forward. Martha refused to leave the house, and refused to see anyone. She said she wanted to take advantage of some time alone to relax and read. After making her see a doctor, who confirmed that there was nothing physically wrong with his normally gregarious daughter, her anxious father had no choice but to chase Harry and the rest of her worried friends away.

Christmas Eve arrived. Like many others German Jewish families who, over time, had become fully assimilated into the German way of
life, the Levys practiced neither Judaism nor Christianity. Many retained their faith in God, but, instead of following an established religion, they created an informal household liturgy grounded in a deep respect for the Ten Commandments, while blending some of the traditions of their heritage with secular celebrations of certain Christian holidays. It was therefore not unusual to find an old German Jewish family that celebrated Christmas, but not Hanukkah, or Passover, but not Easter.

Christmas had been Ruth Levy’s favorite time of year, and after her death Martha carried on the tradition. She decorated the house, cajoled Bernice into helping her prepare mulled wine and treats for the carolers who strolled through the neighborhood, and bought small presents for her sister and her father. They reciprocated, although they did so only to please Martha. Neither cared very much about what was, in their opinion, a pagan celebration of the winter solstice co-opted by the Christians to celebrate the birth of their savior. Neither of them possessed the romantic spirit that allowed for the creation of Christmas magic. Martha, on the other hand, believed.

This year Martha once again performed her annual rituals. She decorated the tree, put fir branches and candles in the windows, and cooked a lovely Christmas goose. But she did so with no magic in her heart. Her mind was focused on one single thought.
Leo is due back at the Hotel Bristol the day after Christmas. The day after Christmas.

Martha did not really think that Leo would be back at work on December 26th. If he were really in danger, how could he just go back to his regular job? But the people at the hotel might know something.

To make an international call from Munich, one had to go to the post office. That is where Martha went, precisely at two o’clock in the
afternoon the day after Christmas. One hour later, the operator put her call through.

A bland, “Go ahead, miss,” signaled that the connection had been made. She took a deep breath.

“May I speak to the manager?” she queried in German. She already knew from Leo that most businesses in Budapest used German as a second language because so few outsiders spoke Hungarian. “It’s a matter of some urgency,” she added.

“One moment, please.” The silence stretched across the miles. At last a male voice responded.

“Laslo Orgovany at your service. Whom do I have the honor of addressing?”

“My name is Maria Schwartz. I’m looking for Mr. Leopold Hoffman. I’m a cousin of his. I understand he works there?”

“He did. If you will forgive me, this is, frankly, a strange day for a cousin to be calling from out of the blue. The police have already been here asking about him. Is he in trouble?”

Martha could not hide her disappointment. “You don’t know where he is? You haven’t heard from him?”

“No, and frankly, I wouldn’t tell you anything that I have not already told the police. He went on vacation; to Vienna, I think. He was supposed to report to work this morning, and he did not. Do you know what all this is about, Miss, ah, Schwartz?”

“No. That is, I don’t know why the police would want to talk to him.” A sudden wave of fear hit her, and uttering a hasty “thank you,” she hung up.

At least now she knew that some of what Leo had told her had been true. He was from Budapest. He had worked at the Bristol. He was in
trouble. Confirmation of that much was something. But that was all she had.

She would give him six months. Six months. Six months and then what?

“Then who knows?” she said aloud as she trudged home through the snow, fighting back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her again. “Who knows?”

The knowledge she gained from her telephone call to the Bristol and her self-imposed deadline of six months gave Martha the strength to come out of hiding. The following morning she asked her much relieved father to tell Harry that she would speak to him the next time he called.

The eager young man was at her door a few hours later. “Martha, how are you feeling? We’ve all been so worried about you.”

“I’m fine. Just tired from my trip, that’s all.”

She looked at his apprehensive face and felt a rush of tenderness mixed with pity.
Please
, she thought.
Please don’t let Harry love me the way I love Leo. I don’t want to hurt him that much.

To her father’s surprise, after a short search for a job Martha took a position as a librarian’s assistant at the university. He thought that her desire to pursue a career would have led her to sell clothes in a ladies’ shop, or to work as a photographer’s assistant, something at least mildly glamorous. Instead, Martha threw herself into the world of books, the world that was her father’s home, a world from which only a month ago she’d wanted to escape.

But Martha found the library a comfortable place. Her days full of catalogue numbers and retrieval requests, she did not have to establish
any new relationships with the people inhabiting a place to which she no longer felt connected. The cerebral quiet helped her recover some measure of tranquility. She worked. She thought about Leo. And she waited.

The head librarian noticed a distinct increase in the number of young men studying in the library during the hours that Martha was on duty. Martha’s supervisor was happy to note that Martha seemed oblivious to this phenomenon, and, rather than encourage any disruption on the part of her admirers, concentrated quite satisfactorily on her duties. Of course, there was invariably someone who offered to help her with the heavy books she had to carry. Martha politely declined each offer with a smile that made her rebuff seem like a gift, unaffected by both the attention she received and the sensation she created.

Harry Jacobson was ecstatic. He spent the better portion of each weekday at a table in the library reading room, where he could catch frequent glimpses of Martha as she made her way around the stacks, reshelving books with a delicate hand. He could barely keep his mind on his studies.

Every day when Martha got off work, Harry would greet her and offer to walk her home. Carefully staking out his claim in full view of the other hopeful admirers, he helped her on with her coat, and took her hand with gallant firmness. Implausible as it seemed to the other young men surrounding her, Martha Levy did not seem interested in spending time with anyone other than Harry Jacobson. The herd of hopefuls vibrated with envy every time Martha left the library under Harry’s courteous escort. How could a nondescript guy like Harry capture a firebird? Where was the fairness in that?

Always grateful for Harry’s company, Martha started to worry that she was, in some way, leading Harry on. She knew, now, that she was not in love with him. At times Martha felt compelled to straighten out any misunderstanding that might be building between them, but she never found a way to broach the subject without sounding presumptuous, for Harry had never formally declared his love to her. And until she heard from Leo, she was reluctant to say anything that would jeopardize her relationship with her friend, for Harry was, in his kind, mild way, very precious to her. So she let things be, aware of the faintly selfish undercurrents that kept their little boat rocking along, unwilling to say anything that might capsize it.

Ultimately it was Harry who forced the issue, in a manner that took Martha completely by surprise. “Would you like to go for a picnic tomorrow, now that the weather has finally gotten warmer?” he asked one April evening as he walked her home.

“Why yes,” Martha responded warmly. “What a lovely way to spend my day off.” She loved hiking through the countryside in April. It was such an optimistic time of year.

Martha was totally unaware of the fact that Harry had just reissued the exact invitation he had given her sister Bernice one year earlier. He repeated the words as a good luck omen. She had to come with him. His dreams depended on it.

The next afternoon found Martha and Harry seated on a woolen blanket, savoring soft bread, sausages, and dried fruit while they admired the formidable peaks of the Alps carving white shadows into a crystal blue spring sky. They’d chatted amiably about everything and nothing as they made their way into the foothills of mountains. Now a comfortable silence descended, as they enjoyed the view and their lunch.

Harry had rehearsed this scene in his head dozens of times over the past few weeks. Yet somehow, all of his eloquent speeches deserted him as he contemplated the beauty of the scenery and the promise of his future, a future that could, that must, include Martha.